


Cease to Remember, Cease to Forget

by thatluckyrabbit



Category: Casper (1995)
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Male Friendship, Opening Up, Past Character Death, Personal Growth, Repressed Memories, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 01:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1451074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatluckyrabbit/pseuds/thatluckyrabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James never would have known just how much pain Stretch was in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cease to Remember, Cease to Forget

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after getting an idea in the shower. It came out worse than what I had in mind, but whatever. I just wanted to write *something* XD

 

"...you know what the worst part about dyin' is?"  
  
James would know. He had, as much as he hated to remember, died once before. But everything about those memories in particular were practically repressed now.

Even so, that didn't mean he would deny they completely happen. He was rather surprised that Stretch felt the exact same way about his own experience.   
  
This was the first time Stretch ever came to him in private. No jokes, no sarcastic remarks, nothing. They were friends, Stretch had admitted that much, and everything he did was nothing more than teasing. But there was none of that when he came down to the library to see James. There was just a desperate tone of voice and a pair of glossy violet eyes to go with it. And James knew Stretch was starting to remember things... things he knew he'd rather forget. James didn't even say anything when Stretch began talking; he just sat down and listened to what Stretch had to say, and ask questions when he needed to. "What is?"  
  
The ghost's long fingers were curled up, all four on both hands clenched up into a fist. It wasn't out of anger, James noted right away. It was out of anxiety, which James didn't even know the older ghost had until today. Stretch didn't outright say that was what he had (he might not even be aware that was what he probably had), but the way he described how he would feel some days, such as today... it was clear as day to James what Stretch was referring to.   
  
"You forget everything about yourself..." Stretch said quietly, a faraway look in his eyes. He wasn't looking at James, but at the floor instead. "Right as your heart stops beatin', you see your life go by, except it's backwards... everything goes backwards, like a countdown, and as each memory goes by, you start to forget each one. Faces, places, the way you talk and act, things you like, the food you like...  _family_... it all starts to blur."  
  
James didn't press him to continue like he would with most of his patients. At this point, Stretch wasn't even his patient anymore, but instead a friend desperate for someone to listen. James would always respect that.  
  
"The thing that sucks is that, the first thing I do remember was the crash..."  
  
"The train crash?" James asked, just to let Stretch know he was listening. Which he was, very much so.  
  
Stretch nodded, but his eyes were glued to the floor. "I woke up to the smell of smoke. Thick, black smoke, the type that would kill any fleshie even if they only inhaled a little bit of it. There wasn't any screams, though. Only silence. And the train was all tipped over, some of the train cars missin', some thrown nearly a hundred feet away from the tracks. I didn't see no bodies, and I figured it was cause some were either thrown even further where I couldn't see them, or cause most of the people died in the fire. That fire took out half of the train cars, includin' the one me and the boys were in." By boys, he clearly meant his brothers. "Luckily I didn't see them... I wouldn't want to see them like that."  
  
"No one would," James agreed with him, tone gentle and sympathetic. Usually that would annoy Stretch, but coming from the man he now called his friend, the only fleshie he could tolerate, he accepted it gratefully.   
  
"Just lookin' at the wreckage, and the big puffs of smoke..." Stretch went on, a haunted look in his eyes. "The only thing I did know was that I'd been involved somehow. I'd been in that crash, that much I _vaguely_ remembered... see, the train derailed right as it got off a bridge that was right over a big river... so I woke up nearly on the edge of the cliff... and I remembered that specifically, so I knew that I was down there. Somewhere."  
  
"In the river?"  
  
Stretch shook his head, one hand raising to grip his neck. "Not in the river... I was hangin' _over_ it. When the train derailed, everyone got tossed around... some got tossed out... I actually survived the crash, and I could have survived bein' tossed out... except when I did get tossed out, a loose cord somehow got wrapped around my neck, and I got tossed right over the cliff, and that cord... it got caught... and basically choked me to death. That's why my neck looks like this." He rubbed at his long neck, as if to prove his point. "So when I did look over the edge, after everything had happened... I saw the body, _my_ body, hangin' there... And I knew instantly that it was me. That was when I remembered the crash, and everything that happened." Stretch curled up on the chair, hugging his would-be-knees to his chest. "I actually don't remember much from the crash now, thank God... I don't even have memories about the specific stuff, like the stuff I saw when it happened..."  
  
"And that's good," James reminded him with a small, kind smile. "You were able to repress those memories."  
  
"Not everything," Stretch said quietly. "Not the sounds... The only thing I do remember from that night that I haven't been able to forget... is the screams. And I realize now that the loudest of those screams that I heard over all of them were the ones of my brothers. And sometimes I'll remember their screams at the most random times... like if Stinkie or Fatso laugh, I'll suddenly hear screams, _their_ screams, instead... I mean, it doesn't happen all the time, but... you know..." Stretch let out a long, rather exhausted sigh. "I hate when it happens."  
  
"That's not your fault," James reminded him gently. "That's completely out of your control."  
  
"I know..." Stretch sounded defeated and drained, but he wouldn't stop. If anything, he did like this: telling someone he trusted his darkest secrets and his most awful memory. He never talked to anyone about it before. "But... nothing is worse than forgetting who you are. Cause I do remember lookin' up at the sky, strugglin' to breathe, unable to do anything except hang there with that cord wrapped around my neck... slowly I saw my life go from my last moment as a human until the day I was born. Except it wasn't even me, like from my point of view... it was like... lookin' at someone else's life instead of mine... like I saw myself and everything that happened to me—the good, the bad and the ugly—but it didn't feel like it belonged to me. Cause the more memories that passed by, the more I forgot that it was my life passin' by."  
  
James' accidental death had been so quick that he didn't even remember that. He just remembered waking up as a ghost without knowing who he'd been. But even he had started to remember certain things. When Kat held out her pinkie for him, he remembered instantly she was his daughter. Little things like that seemed to trigger memories for ghosts. Now he only wondered... "How long did it take for you to remember everything?"  
  
"Not too long... cause I ended up back here rather quickly." Stretch's haunted expression became more apparent, as if there was more to _that_ story (how he managed to end up back at Whipstaff after he died), but he didn't go any further into that territory. "So did the boys. We ended up meetin' here. And Casper was here too, all along, so... he remembered us, but we didn't remember him or each other. Not right away, anyway... he had to explain stuff to us, show us around and show us pictures until we finally did remember." Stretch swallowed hard, and if James didn't know any better, the ghost appeared to have tears in his eyes. Either that or his eyes were shining brighter than usual. "You know what the worst part about that night was?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"...the reason why we was on that train... was cause our youngest brother, Casper's dad..." Stretch took a deep breath. "He... died... earlier that day... we'd been in New York when it happened, and the moment we got the letter we hopped on the first train home..."

"What happened to him?" James knew he was heading into deep territory, and he hoped Stretch wouldn't be angry for him asking such a personal question.

Stretch didn't seem to mind. "He'd been a mess after Casper died... started sayin' that Casper's ghost was around the house, started sayin' he knew how to bring him back..." He sniffled, some tears falling down his cheeks now. "...of course it turns out he was right about all of that... but at the time we were only worried about him, scared that he was going crazy... He ended up bein' admitted to the hospital... not just any hospital, though... the one for loonies. His entire reputation as an inventor was ruined, and he became so upset by everything that he stopped eatin', stopped takin' care of himself... and he got sick. He died in that mental hospital, all alone..." Stretch rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, though his voice was still thick with tears. "And I regret everyday for putting him there."  
  
James realized that this wasn't just the first time Stretch was personally confiding in him, but also the first time he'd seen him actually cry... It rather hurt to see this seemingly unbreakable ghost breaking down in front of him. "You thought you were doing the right thing at the time... and in a way it was, had you not known the truth."  
  
"But I shoulda known the truth," Stretch practically moaned, "I shoulda believed him... I was his older brother... I'm the oldest one..." Suddenly he strayed off topic, more of his pain pouring out in other ways and reasons. "I'm supposed to be their guardian and give them advice and be there for them, you know? But it's hard for me when I actually feel like shit everyday, more than anyone would think... and I have to hold it together for them. For Stinkie, Fatso, _and_ Casper. I've always been the leader, the one lookin' out for them, but there's some days where I feel like fuckin' fallin' apart..."  
  
James never would have known just how much pain Stretch was in. But now that he'd befriended him after a few months since moving into Whipstaff... maybe... _maybe_ that was a sign for the better. "It'll get better. Maybe not right away, but... you will one day." It sounded so cliché, but James absolutely meant it. Stretch would get better one day... not right away, but with help, _his_ help, the ghost would finally see the light (so to speak).  
  
Stretch took a deep, shuddering breath, teary violet eyes finally meeting James' soft and sympathetic brown ones. "It will?" The ghost sounded so hopeful that James felt his chest clench painfully. Stretch trusted him, and it was evident in his tone.  
  
James nodded "It will..." He promised, giving Stretch an encouraging smile. "...one day it will. It won't happen over night, but... with help it will." And even though it went against what he was supposed to do as a psychiatrist, he added, "I promise it will, and I promise I'll help you."  
  
And he was going to keep that promise.


End file.
